


Mask of Zorro (No, Not The Movie)

by LadyDrace



Series: Connor Is Basically Zorro [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Drinking, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, POV Hank Anderson, Pining, Scents & Smells, Slight self-loathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27266572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: Hank is off the case and back in the bottle, and makes some horny and possibly dodgy life choices.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Series: Connor Is Basically Zorro [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987648
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	Mask of Zorro (No, Not The Movie)

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those beforementioned porn inserts. This one takes place at the start of Chapter 5.
> 
> Unbetaed.

Hank’s now off the case.

He walks out of the station, feeling weary and buzzed at the same time, and doesn’t even spare a glance for anyone as he leaves. Fowler is busy counting out the diamonds from the grubby drug store bag, Reed is damn near skipping around the bullpen, knowing he’s next in line for this high profile case, and everyone around Hank seem unreasonably happy.

But, then again, they don’t know how pathetic and hurt he feels inside. And also guilty.

He rubs the silky fabric of Connor’s mask in his pocket as he goes to his car. He could still turn around, go back in, claim he forgot something and just get it logged. He could get the lab nerds in on it with their scanners and tweezers, picking Connor’s hair or skin out of the fabric for DNA testing. With a little luck they could have an ID within a few hours.

He does not go back inside.

Instead he goes home, feeds Sumo and walks him, goes through the motions of everyday life with the shiny mask just lying there on the dinner table. It almost feels like it’s mocking him with its empty eye-holes, and Hank puts away the beer in favor of something stronger.

He watches the game on TV, but feels the mask’s presence like it’s a living thing. The bottle on his coffee table gets more and more empty, until finally Hank reaches a point where the painful knot in his chest doesn’t feel so bad anymore.

But that’s when the terrible ideas start to emerge.

Before he knows it the mask is in his hands. He turns it over, turns it inside out, pokes his fingers through the eye-holes and undoes the knot. He’s not sure why, only knows that he wants to. The fabric feels sort of like satin but also stretchy, and while Hank is not a stranger to the finer things in life, it’s been a while since he’s felt anything like this.

If he’s honest, it feels vaguely like… lingerie. All slinky and tight fitting and smooth. Which of course, leads his brain onto the path of wondering if that’s how the rest of Connor’s skin-tight outfit feels.

Aaaaand now he’s horny. Fuck it all.

He’s far too drunk to be doing this, and he should really just go the fuck to bed.

But having that mask in his hands feel just the tiniest bit like he’s holding something of Connor, and he helplessly brings the mask to his face. He breathes in, and Connor’s scent is there. Faint, but distinct, and it goes straight to his dick.

“Fuck,” he breathes, both hating himself and also hating Connor a little bit for reducing him to this.

This isn’t him. He’s not this kind of… _creep_. He’s not some weirdo laundry-stalker, stealing panties out of hampers for shameful jerking sessions.

But, then again, this was freely given. It’s a _gift_. Hell, Connor is a clever little shithead, he probably suspects what Hank might do with it.

That’s definitely the alcohol talking, but the fact that Hank’s already trying to justify it also means there’s only one way this can go, and with a last, fond farewell to his sanity, he reaches into his shorts.

Fuck, it’s been too long.

He’s been holding himself together so tightly for so long, trying desperately to remain professional. But then Connor had to go and seduce him, let him feel, let him _taste_. And he’s off the case now, there’s no reason left to hold off.

Except the obvious skeeze-factor.

But that rapidly drowns in pleasure as Hank strokes himself slowly, root to tip, not going at it too hard yet. Just a slow massage, giving all of his dick some much needed attention. He cups his balls and rolls them a little too. Not too much, just a little hello between old pals, and he sighs into the now warm fabric, still pressed against his face.

“Yeah,” he sighs, allowing himself the briefest moment of fantasy to imagine that Connor is there, watching him, approving.

Following that line of thought, he eases his cock and balls over the waistband of his shorts, leaving it all exposed. Just in case there’s someone who wants a look.

There isn’t. Hank knows every creak and pop and whisper of his own house, and he has a dog. A lazy as hell dog, sure, but there’s not even a single twitch of an ear.

But fantasy is fantasy, and Hank makes just a little bit of a show of holding his dick, smoothing the foreskin over the head, and presenting what he’s got. He knows he’s fairly well-endowed, and tightens his fist around the shaft to emphasize his girth.

God he wants to fuck so badly. It’s been _years_.

To hell with it, he wants to fuck _Connor, specifically_. Wants to just take hold of him, rip that slinky fabric off him, not caring who sees, and just sink into that tight little ass to the root. That’s what he wants, and he strokes himself faster as he imagines it.

Shit, he would love to fuck on every surface in that tasteless, gold-dusted penthouse. Would have felt nothing but the purest joy leaving Connor’s come and sweat on every shiny surface, ruining whatever shitty illusion of perfect the owners were trying to pursue.

Nothing they can buy will ever come close to the perfection of Connor anyway, Hank is willing to bet his life on it.

Connor’s lips alone are enough to make Hank dizzy, he doesn’t even need to know what the rest of him looks like. To hell with undressing or even fucking, just the thought of Connor sinking to his knees and closing those dainty pink lips over Hank’s cock-head makes him whimper into the mask, and he strokes himself even faster, making a hole with his thumb and forefinger to thrust into, that he can pretend is Connor’s lips.

His gorgeous, fuckable lips.

“Jesus,” Hank moans, making Sumo send him a glance, and then rearrange himself to go back to sleep.

Hank almost envies Sumo his lack of balls, seeing as he never has to deal with losing his mind over a pretty face. Tail. Whatever.

It’s too late now, though, Hank’s mind is truly gone over Connor, and he grunts and pants as he pulls at his dick, yanking it almost to the point of pain, chasing the fantasy to its peak as he breathes desperately through Connor’s scent. He can almost feel Connor there, can almost see him on his knees, cheeks hollowing as he sucks, whimpering and wordlessly begging for Hank to come down his throat. To give him what he wants, what he’s wanted for months, what he’s been hinting at and dreaming of ever since their first meeting.

“ _Please, Hank._ ”

It’s so easy hearing those words in his head in Connor’s husky voice.

“ _Please, Hank, please, I want it.”_

“Yeah… yeah, baby, yeah, _fuck_ ,” Hank pants, toes curling and gut tightening as he wrings the come from his cock. He’s keeping his eyes closed so he can imagine it’s not spattering all over his coffee table, but instead painting Connor’s gorgeous face, sliding down his reddened lips, getting in his eyelashes or his hair, maybe on his cheeks. Does he have beauty marks? Moles? Just smooth, pale skin?

Hank lets out one last strained groan as he finishes, and then falls back into the couch, spent and feeling empty in more ways than one.

He can’t even enjoy the mental image of Connor’s come-covered face, because he still doesn’t even fucking know what most of his face looks like.

Pathetic.

He cleans up and goes to bed. The mask comes with him.

After all, it’s not like there’s anyone left who cares.

End.


End file.
